


The Rubble of Our Sins

by bansheequeen (queenbanshee), xtremeroswellian



Series: Where Do We Begin? [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Damn Tree Stump, Dynamic Duo, Eichen House is scary, Epic Friendship, F/M, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia drives the jeep, Lydia figures out Stiles, Major spoilers for 5 X 05, Nogitsune mentions, Panic Attacks, Protective Lydia, Protective Stiles, Spoilers for "A Novel Approach", Stiles hates the Nemeton, Stiles is freaking out, StilesStillLikesHer, Stydia, These kids need a break, They're tethered, We have so many emotions after that episode, but also OTP, duh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/bansheequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "A Novel Approach," Lydia confronts Stiles to find out what's going on, because she knows he's not okay. Because Stiles isn't the only one who pays attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rubble of Our Sins

“It’s our responsibility,” Lydia whispers quietly, her eyes wide as she unconsciously squeezes Stiles’ arm that is wrapped around her. 

She takes a deep, calming breath and turns her head to look up at him, moving slowly and as much as she can with him still holding on to her tightly. But she knows it’s not just about the doctors, it’s not just about what Valack said. It’s about the ritual, it’s about the guilt, it’s about the knowledge of all of this starting because of _them_. 

“Stiles,” she says, her voice a little louder this time. “We need to find Scott and Kira.” She’s fairly sure mentioning Scott and the possibility of him being in danger is about the only thing that will help Stiles snap out of it long enough for them to get out.

He’s in a daze when she speaks again and he reluctantly drops his arm from around her, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. They have to find their friends and get them out of there, and figure out what the hell they’re going to do. He draws in a breath and meets her eyes for a fleeting moment before he reaches out once more and rests his hand at the small of her back, then hesitates, stepping toward the door ahead of her just in case the Dread Doctors are still out there nearby. 

Stiles peeks out into the hallway but doesn’t see movement or any humanoid shaped figures, so he reaches back and holds his hand out to her wordlessly. 

She’s not far behind at all once he takes the lead. The lights being back on, and the, well-- _dread_ she was feeling lessening are clear enough signs for her to know they should be okay enough. But this place still has a lot of death all around it. Especially considering what is _behind_ it. Oak Creek isn’t something she can allow herself to think about it now, though.

So she reaches for the offered hand instinctively. It’s comforting and it’s natural for both of them. It’s not something she ever stopped to analyze with Stiles before. It’s just part of their relationship.

But then she hears glass shattering behind them. It’s coming from down the hall where they were, from the cells. And it’s not good. “ _Hurry_!”

His grip tightens when she says that, and they take off down the hall, Stiles glancing involuntarily in the cell with the Sleugh and inhaling sharply at the sight of Donovan’s accusing eyes looking back at him. He feels nauseated, but he tugs gently on Lydia’s hand, unsure of where Scott and Kira had gone once they make it back to the main hallway where the mountain ash began. 

“They’re not here,” he mutters, heart beginning to beat faster. “Where are they?” He knows she doesn’t know because she can’t know, because she’s a banshee and not a psychic and she’d been with him all evening. 

The panic is building in his chest. Where the hell were Scott and Kira? 

“They have to be outside.” Must might have been a better choice of words. But she knows they can’t come this far into the building and she hopes Scott would know better than to wait around for them when he saw those things arriving. Assuming they saw them at all. Which they hopefully didn’t.

He hopes she’s right as they make a beeline for the stairs, his heart thundering against his chest the same way it had the previous night when he’d been on the run from Donovan. He immediately puts a halt to that line of thinking because his first concern, his top priority -- has to be getting Lydia out of there and somewhere safe. His hands are sweating by the time they make it to the next set of stairs and he has a vivid memory of the man who’d hanged himself from this level the night that he’d had himself committed. 

He swallows heavily and keeps going, not daring to look at the banister. He wonders how many people have died in this place over the years in that same exact way, and he hopes he never actually has to find out. 

“Three more floors,” he mutters, glancing back at her for the briefest of seconds, more to reassure himself that she hasn’t vanished even though he’s gripping onto her hand. “Are you all right? Your side?” 

Her gaze follows his upstairs and for just a second, it’s almost like she can see the hanging man in there. Almost. Frowning slightly, she glances at him questioningly, but decides against actually saying anything. They need to keep moving. Plenty of time to ask him about it later. Hopefully.

“I’m fine.” She squeezes his hand and links her fingers with his instead, for a better grip on it. “Are _you_?” He’s supposedly sick. But she doesn’t think he’s really sick at all. Which is another thing she needs to ask when they have time. If they have time.

He mutters an apology for his hand being sweaty, but they keep going. “Yeah. Just a supreme desire to get the others and get the fu -- hell out of here.” His jaw is tight with tension and he exhales when they finally make it to the ground floor. He looks at her and then toward the door, but doesn’t see Scott and Kira from where they’re standing. “I have to get my keys,” he whispers, but there’s no one at the front desk. 

It’s eerily silent, the whole front office seemingly deserted. He half expects to see the orderly’s dead body on the floor behind the desk, and for the briefest moment, he hopes he does. The look he’d given Lydia when they’d first gotten there makes his stomach turn even now. 

He lets go of her hand and hoists himself up and onto the desk, climbing over it and muttering a pained curse under his breath when the wound in his shoulder makes its presence known once more. 

“Be careful!” She calls quietly when he sees him wincing again. Yeah, definitely not sick. And she doesn’t like whatever is happening to his shoulder. Because from where she’s standing at the way she’s looking at it, it almost looks damp underneath his hoodie. It almost like a real injury rather than just muscle pain. Third topic on her list, she supposes. 

For now she just steps forward and reaches for her purse, sliding it over her shoulder before carefully picking up Kira’s belt. She’s fully away just how sharp that thing actually is.

He quickly slides his things into his pocket, face paling a little when he sees the hook from the library isn’t there anymore. _Fuck._ He quickly glances around, but doesn’t see it and he breaks out into a cold sweat. Someone knows. 

He shuts his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to breathe as he grabs Scott’s things out of the basket and then hurls himself over the desk again, biting down hard on his tongue. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

Once he actually makes his way back to her side, Lydia realizes just how pale Stiles is. The sweat on his forehead has nothing to do with the stairs they just climbed. It’s cold sweat. And she knows it’s guilt over the ritual, it’s worry over Scott. But there’s more to it. And if he thinks he’s going to get any sleep tonight after they get back, he’ll have another thing coming. Item number four. 

She reaches for his hand again and this time takes the lead herself. Without actually tugging on his arm, she pulls him toward the front doors, growing still a moment later when she sees their friends there.

“Scott?” Lydia calls, half gasping. 

“We’re okay,” he calls back, but he’s still laying on the floor, healing. So he lifts his head and smiles in relief at Stiles and Lydia. He knew they’d be okay, too. He meant what he said to Kira earlier -- all of it -- but about them being good together.

Kira mumbles something incoherently in response to their voices.

Stiles quickly moves over to where they’re laying on the ground, eyes widening in alarm as he sees the burn marks all over Scott’s exposed skin. “Dude, what the hell happened?” he whispers. 

“Foxfire,” Kira whispers weakly. 

“Did something attack you guys?” Lydia asks, letting go of Stiles’ hand and reaching out to help Kira sit up, at least.

“Not really. It was just-- all over the place. With mountain ash, I think it was really affecting us.” Scott adds, then smiles at Stiles and nods. “I’m healing, give me about half an hour and I won’t smell like barbecue anymore.” 

“I couldn’t control it,” Kira tells her, taking Lydia’s hand and letting her help her. 

Stiles glances at the front door and then toward the parking lot. Toward his jeep. “Think you can heal in the jeep?” And by that he means, can Scott _make_ it to the jeep. He doesn’t think about it, he just reaches out, edging his uninjured shoulder beneath Scott’s arm to help him up to his feet. “Lean on me.” 

“Like at the station?” Lydia asks Kira quietly, wrapping her arm around her shoulders so she can help her to her feet.

“No, this was -- this was different.” She looks at Lydia nervously, but lets the girl help her. 

Scott pauses at that and glances from Lydia to Kira, then focuses back on Stiles and nods. “Yeah, I’m okay. Let’s go home.”

Stiles isn’t sure what Lydia means by Kira losing control at the station, either, but he’s more concerned about his best friend looking like deep fried werewolf than the rest at the moment. He helps Scott to the jeep ahead of the girls, casting a troubled glance at him. “I’d ask if I should take you to Deaton but considering he skipped town…” 

“I’ll be alright,” Scott promises Stiles, leaning on him as they make their way toward the jeep. “They didn’t hurt you two, did they?” 

“No.” He manages not to wince as he pulls open the back door of the jeep for Scott with his injured arm. “They didn’t see us. We hid.” He lets out a breath and steers him toward the seat. “Did they see you? The Dread Doctors?” 

“No, they didn’t see us, either. But we knew they were there--” He glances back at the girls who are coming up behind them, then lowers her voice. “Kira couldn’t control her powers, I had to get her out of there.” 

“Dude, it’s okay,” he says, voice quiet as he meets Scott’s eyes. “You did the right thing. And we were fine.” He doesn’t have to ask to know Scott feels guilty for having left them behind in Eichen House. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Scott says, offering his best friend a soft smile as he lets him lead him to the jeep.

* * * 

Stiles watches Scott help Kira up to the front door of the McCall house and he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment once they disappear inside. Technically Lydia’s house would’ve been the first stop since she lives farther away from him than Scott, but Scott and Kira were injured and needed rest, so he hadn’t thought twice about taking them home first. He’s relieved that Scott was already almost fully healed from the burn marks. 

“Well that was mildly heart attack inducing,” he mumbles.

And considering the ever growing list of things Lydia needs to ask him about, she’s really glad this was his plan.

“Okay, now you can stop pretending you’re okay. And you’re done driving.” It’s really not that long a drive but she’s been watching him wince every time he had to shift gears. She’s not sure how Scott and Kira didn’t say anything on the drive back. But she supposes he and Kira were pretty much falling asleep in the back seat.

Without warning, she makes her way around the jeep and opens the driver’s door. She hates climbing in and out of this thing, but it’s better if she does it and not him. “Scoot over.” 

He starts to protest, but she’s out of the jeep before he can argue, and then she’s opening his door. And considering he doesn’t want Scott and his werewolf hearing knowing _anything_ about what’s going on, he reluctantly scoots over so that he’s in the passenger seat. He looks at her warily. 

“Lydia, have you ever driven stick shift before?” he asks uncertainly. 

“I’ve driven the Porsche,” she answers simply as she gets into the driver’s seat, looking around for a moment then adjusting the seat. So it was once or twice years ago when she was still with Jackson and he ended up getting drunk at a party, but she managed it then, she can manage it now. And something tells her Stiles won’t be nearly as annoying about what she’s doing as Jackson was. 

Besides, she knows the basics, she’ll be fine.

He presses his lips together and leans back against the seat. Only three other people have ever driven his jeep before. If it was anyone else, he’d bristle about it a lot more but instead he just watches her shift the gear stick and he shuts his eyes as the jeep starts forward. “I drove the Porsche once too.” He’s not even sure what makes him say it, other than he has so little brain to mouth filter, and with her it really doesn’t matter anymore. She accepts him for it. 

“You did?” She’s definitely surprised by this information. She knows how much he and Jackson hated each other. They always had, since they were little. And she also knows how much Jackson loved that stupid car. So Stiles driving it is pretty much the same thing as Jackson driving the jeep. If anyone asked her, she’d say one of them would die before that ever actually happened.

“Yeah. He owed me.” Big time. He’d opened his mouth about Scott to Chris Argent the night of the winter formal. “It was -- the night of winter formal. And we were on our way to help get rid of Peter,” he admits. 

“Wait, before the formal?” Because she knows what happened after. Well, she knows what she’s been told. About Jackson finding her passed out and bleeding on the lacrosse field and driving her to the hospital, but not much else. Then again, there was a lot she didn’t know back then. “What happened?” 

Mostly, this is a good conversation to distract him from the fact that she’s shifting to the second gear. Not that she plans on going any higher than that.

“No. After. You were already -- in the hospital,” he tells her quietly, exhaling and closing his eyes. He’s aware she’s shifting gears, but he’s too tired to worry about it. “Argent cornered him at the formal. He told him about Scott. About -- all of it. All of it that he knew.” As if Stiles hadn’t already hated Jackson enough already at that point. “Then he cornered both of us at the hospital and demanded answers.” 

He reaches up unconsciously, rubbing at the injury on his shoulder. It hurts, but it itches, too. “So I grabbed the keys after Argent left and we went to the Hale house.” And proceeded to light Peter on fire with molotov cocktails that she’d taught them how to make. 

Lydia glances his way when he reaches up to his shoulder, frowning a little more. She’s barely paying attention to what he’s saying about the winter formal. It was a lifetime ago, it doesn’t really matter what happened at this point. That and they’re almost to his house. And luckily, the jeep is still going smoothly. 

“I’m just surprised you two were able to be around each other without killing each other,” she adds lightly.

He blanches involuntarily at that and looks away, out the passenger side window. “Yeah.” Because he knows with certainty -- now especially -- that he could’ve gone through with his suggestion of killing Jackson when he’d been the Kanima. A cold chill runs down his spine and he reaches out, turning on the heater even though it’s warm outside. He looks at her sideways after a moment. “You still doing okay?” 

That’s definitely an unexpected reaction to the comment she made. Lydia frowns a little, watching him turn on the heat, just watching _him_. Whatever is happening to him is big, and from the way Scott was acting, she really doesn’t think Stiles told him. Considering he lied about why he wasn’t at school and the fact that Malia didn’t seem to know anything else, Lydia is definitely worried.

“I’m okay. You’re cold?” She asks, glancing his way for a moment longer then looking back at the road.

“Just a little.” His voice is hushed. He’s not cold the way he’d been after the Nogitsune had possessed him, but sometimes he feels like he never really returned to his normal body temperature after. But this is -- the kind of cold that comes from guilt. And maybe he really is getting sick. He probably should have made more of an effort to clean the wound in his shoulder, but it’s not like it’s an easy to reach place, and it’s not like there’s anyone he could have asked for help. 

Because he can’t tell anyone. Not ever. _Not even Scott._ Especially not Scott. 

Lydia nods slightly. It’s warm out, well, it’s comfortable. He shouldn’t need the heat on for sure. Especially since he’s still wearing the hoodie. She only has a dress on and she’s fine. But she doesn’t say anything, not until she parks the jeep in front of his house, anyway. 

“Okay.” She shuts off the engine and turns on her seat toward him. “You have two choices: I can go in with you and take a look at your shoulder, or I’m driving you over to see Melissa.” 

His heart jumps in his chest. Either of those things happening will mean someone finding out, and he’s fairly sure that if Lydia _or_ Melissa find out, they’ll be talking to Scott. Maybe he was stupid to assume he could keep this to himself. He rubs a hand over his face, closing his eyes and trying not to panic. His mind screams for him to figure out another solution, but this is Lydia. 

She’s not going to let it go. It’s not who she is. And if their situation was reversed, he knows he’d be the same way. 

“Okay.” He reaches out and opens the jeep door, sliding out wearily and digging into his pocket for his house key. 

She figured this would be his choice. Not that it completely excludes the possibility of her dragging him to the ER anyway. But at least him trusting her to see what is actually going on means something. She might actually be able to help him enough and either way, she’ll be able to figure out at least some of what’s happening to him. Maybe answer some of her questions.

After grabbing his car keys and her purse, she follows him into the house, locking the door behind them and following him up to his room. She has no idea what time it is, but she figures the Sheriff will be back from his shift soon enough. They have been gone for a few hours.

He doesn’t think he has much shot at convincing her not to say anything to Scott. He doesn’t think there’s much chance that he’s going to be sleeping anytime in the near future. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, sighing inaudibly at the sight of Malia’s name. Nope, he thinks, silencing it and sliding it back into his jeans. He definitely can’t handle that one right now. 

Stiles opens the door to his room and steps inside, ushering her in with a hand on her back before he closes and then locks it, too. He doesn’t know when his dad will be home, but probably not for awhile. Still. He’s not taking any chances. If he fears telling _anyone_ what happened more than he fears telling Scott? It’s his dad. 

He moves to the window and peers out just in case, but doesn’t see sign of anyone else around. He shuts the blinds and draws the curtains, more than aware of how paranoid he looks right now. But what else is new? He’s the paranoid, untrusting, obsessive psycho in his group of friends and they’re all already aware of it. 

Lydia drops her purse on his computer chair and just watches him. He’s visibly shaken up. Pale. She’s fairly sure that if she took his hand now, it’d be sweaty just like it was back at Eichen. And then he locks the door, something he’s never really done when she was there with him. It doesn’t bother her because she trusts him, but it does worry her more. 

Once he’s done with the window, she finally takes a step closer, eyes still on him. She really has no idea what to expect. But this is definitely really bad. “Okay, let me see.” She doesn’t think he’s in condition to talk just yet, so it’ll be easier to let her see it.

“It’s really not that bad,” he says, voice hushed, but he can’t quite meet her eyes. He’s pretty sure it’s not something he’ll die from anyway. _Not like Donovan._

“Stiles.” Sighing softly, she steps forward and gives him a look for a moment. And then without allowing herself to hesitate or think about what she’s doing, she reaches out and unzips his hoodie, ready to push it off his shoulders unless he stops her.

He swallows hard, nervous for more reasons than he wants to admit right now, but he doesn’t stop her from stripping him of the hoodie. He rubs a hand over his face before he reluctantly turns around, tugging his shirt up so she can look at the wound. He keeps his eyes shut. He could barely tell what it looked like, but he’d seen the teeth in Donovan’s hand and he knows it can’t be a pretty sight.

She has no idea what to expect when he turns his back to her, but she does gasp quietly when she sees the wound there. It’s healing, but it looks terrible. She glances over at his face for a second then lifts her hand to touch the skin underneath it. Underneath the _bite_. It’s a round shape, but whatever bit him bit him hard enough to create bruises all around the wounds. The center is bruised, too. It looks terrible.

“ _What_ happened?” She asks, worry clear in her voice. Why would he not tell anyone about something that looks so terrible?

He wonders how the hell he’s supposed to tell her the truth. He feels the panic beginning to rise in his chest again and he forces a ragged breath. “Got attacked. I think it was a wendigo.” He thinks _Donovan_ was a wendigo. 

Lydia frowns harder. She wants to yell at him. About not telling them, about letting this go on for _hours_ without saying anything. What the hell is he thinking? Instead, she reaches for his hand and drags him into his bathroom. “Sit down and tell me where I can find everything I need to clean it.” 

He sits on the edge of the tub without argument, shoulders slumping and resting his head in his hands. “Medicine cabinet,” he tells her flatly, nodding at the mirrors. 

It only takes her a second to find the hydrogen peroxide and the gauze. She soaks it up then walks back to him, nudging him gently so he’ll turn his back to her. This thing really looks just-- terrible. It’s making her stomach turn just looking at it and she’s usually pretty good about these things. Of course, this is _Stiles_ , she’s more emotionally invested in his well being than she would be on almost anyone else. “A wendigo?” she asks finally, holding her breath as she presses the gauze gently against the bite.

“A chimera, I assume?” 

“I think so.” He grits his teeth as the liquid burns against the wound and he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands, forcing himself to breathe. _Shit_ that hurts. He closes his eyes as she cleans the injury with the peroxide and as much as he hates it, he reminds himself not to answer anything other than what she actually asks. He doesn’t need to drag her into this anymore than she already is. 

She really wants to ask him why he didn’t tell anyone, but if he’s kept it a secret for this long, she knows he’ll try to brush her off. Especially with the way he locked the door and closed the blinds. There’s a lot more to this than him getting bitten. Not that that isn’t worrisome enough. Stiles is _human_. For all she knows, he could be turning into a wendigo right now. So first things first.

“What are Wendigo bites supposed to do?” She knows they’re in the bestiary, she’s seen it before, she just doesn’t remember what she read right now.

“They’re cannibals.” His voice is tired, hushed. “They feed on human flesh and they don’t stop. They can’t. They never get full.” But they can die. He knows first hand. But there aren’t too many people -- supernatural or otherwise -- who don’t die when they’re impaled on a giant pole. But he knows that’s not what she means. She wants to know if he’s going to turn into one. 

He hesitates then glances over his shoulder at her. “They can’t turn people. It’s fine. I’m not -- going to be a flesh-eating monster.” 

Only then realizes she’d been holding her breath. So she lets it out slowly, pursing her lips together when he turns to look back at him. Worried doesn’t even begin to describe what she’s feeling right now. She shifts the gauze, pressing gently against another stop of the circle, but keeps her eyes on his. “How did you get away from one?”

He can’t hold her gaze any longer. He faces forward once more, scrubbing his hands over his face. He’s silent for a long moment, then he shakes his head. “I -- it doesn’t matter.” 

“ _Yes_ , it matters, Stiles!” She can’t help herself, she just snaps at him at this point. “You could have _died_ , you could have been bitten by something that could actually be affecting you and you’re just acting like it’s no big deal!” Lydia steps around him, standing directly in front of him.

“You’re acting weird, and you _lied_ about why you stayed home from school today. You’re jumpy and nervous and even more reckless than usual about your own safety. I _know_ something else happened and I want you to _tell_ me.”

He flinches, huddling in on himself a little more when she yells at him. All the color is drained from his face and he can’t look up at her. “Lydia, I’m trying to give you plausible deniability here,” he whispers. “Just leave it alone, okay? I’m fine. I’m alive, and I’m fine.” He feels the bile in the back of his throat as he remembers the way Donovan’s eyes had seemed to follow him as he left the library, the way he’d stared at him. 

Was he dead? Or had his body just been stolen like all the others? Was that a thing these goddamn doctors did? Body theft? It didn’t make sense, considering they’d killed the other two and left them where they’d died. Someone knows already, but he doesn’t know who it is. Someone had to know.

Plausible deniability? Her stomach drops at the words. She still has no evidence that something as bad as she’s imagining did happen, but she noticed how he reacted when Dr. Valak talked to him about lost souls when they were down by the cells, and then how he reacted when she brought up him and Jackson killing each other. She refuses to reach for conclusions, though. Because this is big, too big even for them. 

So instead, with her jaw tight, she crouches down and holds his gaze as much as he’ll allow her to. “Tell me what happened,” she says firmly. 

His eyes are watery and he shuts them, feeling ill. Even though he knows he _shouldn’t_ tell her, that he should protect her and keep her out of it, away from the potential fallout -- no. The _inevitable_ fallout. “I killed him.” His voice is devoid of emotion. 

His words make her insides grow cold. It’s not what she wanted to hear, but it is what she was expecting. It hardly answers her question, though. She reaches out, covering both his hands in hers, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, softer. “What happened?” she repeats. She wants details, she wants to understand why he would have.

His own insides have felt cold since the previous night. He swallows hard when she covers his hands with hers. He wants to turn his, lace their fingers together, but he can’t move. “He attacked me in the school parking lot. Everyone else was gone. The jeep was broke down again.” His voice is thick, the words bitter on his tongue. “I didn’t even see him coming, he was just -- there.” He tilts his head back toward his wound. 

“I managed to get away and hide in the library.” It just hadn’t lasted very long. He wants to get up, to pace, but he can’t get his legs to _move_. 

She doesn’t even realize she’s rubbing circles around the back of his hands as she watches him, listens to him. Her own stomach feels tight, her eyes are tearing up again. She wants to ask if he recognized who it was, but that’s not the most important piece of information for now. “But he came after you?” 

His breathing hitches when he sees her eyes tearing up and he nods, wiping his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “We fought.” There are other injuries -- bruises, cuts -- but they’re nothing, really. “I climbed up the scaffolding,” he whispers, voice dropping even more. “He followed me. I --” He draws in a breath and lets it out. “I pulled one of the pins out that was holding it together and -- he fell.” 

“So it was self-defense,” she whispers almost instantly as some of the tension eases in her stomach. It’s not that she thought Stiles would ever hurt someone just because he could, but from what he told her just now -- and she knows it’s the truth because she knows _him_ \-- it’s pretty clear that was the case. “So it’s not your fault, Stiles.” 

He wants to agree, but he can’t bring himself to echo her words. It was self-defense. But he’s not sure it really matters. He’s not sure it’ll really matter to _Scott_. To his dad, if he ever finds out. They’ll never look at him the same way once they know. Scott will never trust him again. Not fully. He rubs a hand over his face and rises to his feet, tugging his shirt back down. “I called the police, but when they got there -- the body was already gone. Whoever’s taking them -- they’re fast. I didn’t see anyone else go in or out of the building. The whole place was cleaned up. It was nearly spotless. Like it never even --” His voice breaks and he turns away. 

“Like it never happened at all.” 

Lydia stands up when he does, she’s about to follow up with explaining that it was either him or the wendigo, and that he did right by calling the police, but then he adds that the place was spotless. And her stomach is suddenly in knots again.

“What do you mean like it never happened?” she asks carefully. “The body was gone?”

“I mean, the body was gone, the library looked normal like -- there hadn’t just been a gruesome death minutes before. All the shelves were back in place, books cleaned back up, the scaffolding in its exact previous location,” he tells her as he paces. 

She follows him back into his bedroom as he paces, but instead of joining him, she stares at him, expression stricken. “And you’re sure it was real?” 

“I’m fairly certain that I didn’t hallucinate killing someone in our school, yes.” His voice is flat. 

Lydia doesn’t take it personally. She rarely does when Stiles talks to her like that, but especially right now. And especially when she’s about to drop another bomb on him. Sighing deeply, she looks away, pursing her lips into a thin line. “I think I know who might have taken the body.” 

He grows still at that, staring at her with wide eyes. “What? Who? And why?” 

“Jordan,” she sighs, looking up at Stiles again. “He told me he’s been having dreams about-- the Nemeton. Dreams where he keeps taking bodies upon bodies over there. And laying them over it.” Like some kind of sacrifice. 

Now he definitely feels sick. “ _What?_ ” 

“He doesn’t think it’s real. And I know there’s more to it, but he wouldn’t tell me about it,” she says, her jaw clenching a little. Right now, she doesn’t know if she can trust him at all. She doesn’t even know if he has any control over what’s happening to him. So she feels like she can’t hold it against him, either. 

“You said the police went to the school, didn’t you? Was it him?” She knows the Sheriff has been sidelining him a lot, but if it was Parrish, then it all fits.

“No. It was Deputy Hanson. He thought it was a prank call when he didn’t find anything.” He rakes a hand through his hair. His phone pings to let him know he has a new text message and he exhales slowly before pulling it from his pocket. Malia again. He shuts the sound off and drops it onto his desk upside down. “So you think Parrish is the one stealing the bodies and taking them to the Nemeton. That it’s not just a nightmare.” Because why would it be a nightmare? 

Lydia eyes the phone when he pulls it out, she sees Malia’s name on the screen but doesn’t comment on it. She can only assume Malia is letting him know she’s coming over, but they’re not anywhere near done with this conversation, so she hopes the other girl can stay away for a while longer. Because Lydia knows Stiles didn’t tell her about it either. Something in his choice of words catches her attention, though.

“What do you mean, bodies? There’s more than one?” She’d been at the hospital and by the time she made it to school the next day, Stiles wasn’t there. So she feels like she’s missing something.

His eyebrows furrow at that. “Lydia, they didn’t fill you in about all this earlier?” He shakes his head because of course they hadn’t. Everyone was so busy freaking out they were forgetting to tell everyone else why they were freaking out. “Tracy’s body vanished from Deaton’s. And Lucas’s body vanished from the morgue. Like -- minutes after it happened, just like at the school.” 

“I only saw Malia briefly at the school, met up with the others during break to discuss about Eichen and then I came over to see you,” she explains, shaking her head. “There wasn’t really time.” But that hardly matters right now. “If this is going on, if Jordan _is_ somehow taking the bodies of supernatural creatures and taking them to the Nemeton, we need to figure out _why_.”

And he’d stayed home feeling sorry for himself all day and hiding under the covers, wishing for the entire previous night to have been a nightmare. Wishing for the last couple of _days_ to have just been a nightmare. In Beacon Hills, it’s never just a nightmare. 

He shuts his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. “If he’s taking bodies there, if the doctors are using the same currents that Jennifer used --” He doesn’t finish. He turns to look at his board and uncaps a marker, jotting down “disappearing bodies” and “Parrish?” He can still see faint traces of his previous writing last night. _Donovan dead._

Without warning, he slams his fist into it, knocking it back and into the wall. 

Lydia jumps at the loud noise the board makes, but without hesitating, she steps forward and places both hands on his arms, stopping him from hitting the board again. And hurting himself more. He’s right, though. It feels very familiar. And it terrifies her that something so similar to what Jennifer did seems to be happening to them again. That someone seems to be feeding the nemeton again. But she can’t bring herself to say what they’re both thinking out loud.

“We’re so fucked,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning back into her. “So incredibly fucked.” 

“We’ll figure it out,” she says firmly, rubbing her hands gently over his arms. “We’ll think about it. But for now, you need a break.” If they’re messing with the nemeton again, the last thing she needs is for Stiles to be psychologically vulnerable. She can’t even _think_ about what could happen if-- she won’t think about it, she refuses. She’ll just make sure she can keep him safe from anything like that this time.

“A reading break,” he answers grimly, pulling _The Dread Doctors_ out of his back pocket and turning to face her once more. 

She sighs deeply as he turns to face her again, letting her hands drop to her sides as she reaches to take the book from him. “A mental break. Actual rest. Sleep.” Because she’s now pretty sure the doctors have done something to her, and she only just read the synopsis. “Reading can wait until tomorrow.” 

Stiles can’t help but grimace. Sleep isn’t going to bring him anything but nightmares, no matter how tired he is. But Lydia had just had surgery a couple days ago, and she definitely needed her rest, too. “Is your mom home tonight?” 

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. Her mom has decided that hanging out with her friends from school -- the other teachers -- is a must do since Lydia has been released from the hospital. She knows her mom is still freaked out about what she saw, so she doesn’t blame her. She’s okay with her taking the time she needs before she can have real answers. As long as she stays safe.

He watches her for a moment. “You can stay here. I mean. If you want to.” He’d feel better knowing she wasn’t by herself with everything that’s going on. He purses his lips, glancing back at his board for a moment and moving over to it to pick it back up and put it back into place once more. 

She watches him put the board back in place for a moment. She doesn’t really want to leave, either, and she definitely doesn’t wanna leave him alone. But then she glances over at his phone as the screen lights up again and her chest tightens a little. He probably won’t be alone, he doesn’t really need her to stay with him. “Isn’t Malia coming over?” 

“No.” He follows her gaze to his phone and exhales, shoulders dropping. He’s been ignoring her for the majority of the day, and entirely last night. She hadn’t come over, and he’d been relieved. It’s not like he can tell her what he’d done. Not after he hadn’t believed her when she’d told him she hadn’t killed Tracy at first. He reaches out and picks up the phone, opening his text messages, sending her quick response and then turning the phone off. 

Lydia frowns a little more at his reaction to her question. Apparently there’s something else she’s not being told. But if he and Malia had a fight or something, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that she refuses to leave him alone and risk his life yet again. “Then I’ll stay with you,” she says quietly, watching him closely.

“I can’t tell her,” he whispers, not looking at her. “I can’t -- Scott and my dad, Lydia, I can’t --” He shakes his head. 

Oh. Well, that makes sense. And considering Malia would probably pick up on something the second she smelled him, it also makes sense he’d be avoiding her. To protect her. “I won’t tell anyone,” she whispers quietly. She’s glad he told her, he shouldn’t have to go through this alone. Even if she thinks he could tell at least Scott and be okay. Now isn’t the time for this conversation.

The expression on her face, the sad, tired look that she’s worn for so long, since after Allison and Aiden but tries to hide breaks something inside of him. “Lydia, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, tears stinging his eyes. He rubs at them with the palms of his hands. 

Lydia frowns in confusion when she sees the look on his face, when she realizes he’s _crying_. Her face softens and she’s worried about him again, but then he apologizes and-- it makes no sense. “Why are you sorry?” she whispers back, taking a step forward.

“For all of it. Because it’s never gonna end.” They’re not going to make it out of Beacon Hills alive. They’re probably not all going to survive til the end of senior year. “Things just keep getting worse.” And it feels like being held under in that ice cold bath water that seems like a distant memory but in reality was only just over a year ago. “I’m sorry that you keep getting hurt. That I can’t -- “ He swallows heavily. _That I can’t keep you safe._ That she’d been dragged into all of this in the first place. 

“Stop,” she says, her voice firm again, but her eyes are still soft as she looks at him. “We all got into this mess together. It’s not your fault anymore than it’s mine or Scott’s,” or Allison’s. Or anyone who was involved in the ritual initially. “We have a problem and we have to fix it, just like all the times before. And we _will_ figure this out, too. Like we’ve always done.” It is their responsibility and they can’t deny that. But they started it, they _can_ end it.

“And what if we can’t? What if -- what if this time the cost is just too much?” What if she dies? What if Scott dies? He feels sick to his stomach again. “This is like a nightmare wrapped up in a horror movie dipped in a real life massacre.” 

“ _Hey_.” She reaches for both of his hands, tugging on them gently, willing him to look at her as she steps forward and cocks her head to the side. “What ifs aren’t gonna help us. I _need_ you to stay with me on this, Stiles. I need your help, we need to help each other. And figure it out together.” She can’t let him lose it, not now. She needs to pull him back as much as she can. She needs him to focus on her, on finding a solution and not getting lost inside his own head again. 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers, and his eyes are glassy, red-rimmed from crying and struggling not to cry. He’s not ashamed of the tears, even though a lot of guys would be. His mom had taught him it was okay to cry, that there was nothing wrong with it, and Melissa McCall had reinforced that message over the years. “Lydia, can I -- I need -- can I just --” He lets go of her hands, then hesitates for a second before wrapping his arms around her. 

Her eyes tear up too as she tries to make out what he’s trying to say. But then he wraps his arms around her and her arms are around him instantly. There’s not even a second’s hesitation as she pulls him closer, lifting a hand to wrap against the back of his head. “Of course you can,” she whispers very quietly to him. 

Stiles buries his face against her hair, letting out a shuddering breath. Two days ago she’d nearly died. Last night, he’d killed someone after nearly being killed himself. He tangles a hand in her hair and leans his head against hers. He doesn’t want to let her go. And he’s terrified he isn’t going to have a choice one day. 

But her arms just tighten around him even more. Because she saw the way he was looking at her when he saw her in the police station. She knows how close he was to a panic attack then, and when they were leaving Eichen. She knows how much what happened with the wendigo has to be shaking him up.

And she meant what she said. She’ll stay with him. 

Through the nemeton ritual, Deaton paired them together. She was supposed to be his tether, to guide him back. She doesn’t know if that still matters, but she knows that no matter what happens, she’ll do her best to do just that. She’ll ground him, she’ll make sure his head is above water, she’ll pull him back. As many times as he lets her.


End file.
